


Storms & Secrets

by skysonfire



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Development, Chief Hopper - Freeform, Cigarettes, Consentual Light Choking, David Harbour - Freeform, Eleven (mentioned) - Freeform, F/M, Hawkins - Freeform, Hawkins Indiana, Hop, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), Jim "Chief" Hopper - Freeform, Jim Hopper - Freeform, Nature, One Shot, Original Character - Freeform, Police, Stranger Things One Shot, Stranger Things Reader Fantasy, Stranger Things Season 1, Stranger Things Season 2, Tea, The Upside Down, Thunderstorms, Vaginal Fingering, Will Byers (mentioned) - Freeform, netflix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire
Summary: Will Byers has returned, Eleven has disappeared, and Hawkins quiets its pace. Chief Jim Hopper attempts to regain some sense of normalcy and finds distraction in the form of a woman he's known for some time. The pair embark on a romance that speaks louder when they're not speaking, and more intently when tensions are high. Something's amiss, though, and each hold back secrets that hearken back to Will's disappearance, and their experience with forces strange and unknown.





	Storms & Secrets

The air is a dense swirl invoked by the lake’s mist and an impending storm that threatens in the distance. She navigates to the trailer’s deck regardless — her feet bare; her short, fringed kimono and tresses eddying on the evening breeze.

She feels as though she’s covered in thin layer of salt and brine, and she brings the mug to her lips, gently sipping at the scalding tea. Its sensation is a comfort among so much retreating madness and angst — a blanket over the confusion of Hawkins. The fluid touches at her throat and warms her chest, and she turns to face the inside of the trailer where he’s lighting a cigarette. He is a million things all wound up in worn leather and frayed cotton and soft flannel and sharp metal. It’s a challenge to understand where his mind resides most times, and since Will’s return, he has become increasingly introverted and thoughtful. He feels to her far away — near, but not, and tangible, but indistinct. He worries for the girl, she knows, and that comes with it a bevy of challenges, hurts and traumas. She is unable to touch the subject, and as much as she tries to build her confidence to engage him, she remains quiet about the matter. Even after so many nights. 

She sucks in a breath of air because she understands the meaning of her awkwardly beating heart and the strange, anxious surge of blood that stirs in her extremities. Her pulse pumps in her neck, and she sees the blue flash of his hooded eyes — how their analytical ambition pierces right through her as though all of her flesh is peeled away. She’s terrified and mixed up and upside down. It makes her wonder what he’ll do next or how he’ll respond when she finally tells him about her dreams — the ones in which he's covered in an inky corruption, trying to fight his way free in the darkness illuminated by a thousand fireflies. 

He’s revealed so little to her, but given so much. He’s become accustomed to her — the way she is unannounced, unattached, and always on the cusp of flight. She thinks he wants to keep her close. It’s evident in the ways he rings her phone in the mornings, brings her sunflowers at dusk, and touches her face in the night — sometimes pushing against her so hard. He grips her in his arms toward morning in a specific manner, the one that asks, “Are you mine?”

“That tea’s gotta be shit by now,” he mumbles from inside. “Pretty sure it came with the place.”

“Well,” she ruminates. “I guess it’s pretty good ... for shit.” She frowns and shrugs playfully, and it forces to his face a grin that diffuses his gruff disguise.

“Come out her, Hop. Storm’s comin’.” She turns toward the growing winds and after just a moment, she feels his hand on her hair. He weaves it between his fingers and rubs at the base of her skull, the oils of her scalp branding his calloused skin. He is incredibly cautious when he means to be and when he's thoughtless, there is still a certain prickly gentleness that dapples all of his motions. He's always just a little bit hard and a little bit soft. He's always all the things that make him impenetrable and vulnerable; untamed and totally confusing. 

“Jim. Everyone calls me Hop.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke coil from his nose. She waves him off as she brings back a mouthful of tea.

“It’s a little … weird, ya know?” He removes the mug from her hand and takes a taste. “Jesus, that really is shit."

She dabs the moisture from his bottom lip and tastes the taste of the tea that's touched him. "What's weird?" She asks, even though she knows what he means.

He pushes his hand through his soft brown hair and takes another draw from his cigarette. There's thunder in the distance and she squirms under his arm to feel him near. She hears him exhale a chuckle through his nose and she smiles.

"I know you don't believe that it's over." Her voice is a low and quiet surprise, and she feels his arm tense.

"We don't have to talk about it." He responds, reaching to extinguish his cigarette in the tray that's perched on the trailer's deck rail. 

"But you can tell me," she pauses, "if you want to."

"Thing is," he turns her toward him and looks down at her easy face and wide eyes. The sky takes on a blazing crimson and evening enrobes the day. "I almost want to." He sucks in air through his teeth and leans forward to place his mouth on her lips. His fingers brush along the edge of her kimono, his skin barely touching the flesh of her thigh. His pointed, feathery revolutions make her feel mad for him; frustrated and completely kept.

"But?" She asks, quietly, her hand smoothing over his closely clipped beard. She can feel his jaw clench, because he's not just adept at making her feel mad. He rides his hand up the inside of her thigh and her back presses against the wooden railing of the deck. She can see his hat hanging on its hook inside, beating against the breeze.

The sky molts its red clouds and turns a menacing marriage of violets, grays and blacks. She closes her eyes just as a globule of rain splashes against her chest, splitting into fragments and kicking up onto his cheek. She works under his shirt to feel him on her hands and he presses his fingers closer to the generous heat of her center. He slides his touch against her softness in staggered patterns that make her moisten, and she lunges for his mouth, relishing his smoky-sweet flavor.

The thunder claps down closer and the rain unleashes a torrent. His kiss presses onto her with increased seriousness and she steadies herself against him as he bears down. He is so present, but she can tell that he's far away in his thoughts and she knows what he won't do — spill the words that he wants to say, just as she elects to retain her own secrets. 

"Oh, fuck, Hop," she breathes, her voice joining the melody of the sweet electricity on the wind and the fresh aromatics of the rain pelting against the lake grasses and wood of the trailer. He slides his fingers inside her and places his alternate hand on her throat, squeezing just intently enough for her to embrace his wrist. She articulates her pleasure, her eyes fixed on his. His voice comes as a scrape against her ear as the rain chimes all around them.

"I can't protect you," he confesses as he moves against her like a rushing vibration; as her release builds and her eyes widen. "But goddammit, I'm gonna try."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt working in the Stranger Things fandom, and I certainly hope that I crossed the finish line with some degree of success. This piece takes place in between seasons 1 and 2; I am trying to fill in some dead space here and draw out a little bit more of Hopper's character, which is largely observed via the reader character.
> 
> As in all my pieces, I try very hard to squeeze the life out of every word and distill scenes down to their core. The effect may result in a work that needs to be re-read, because although the phrasing isn't - in itself - confusing, the word choices (I hope) are unique and thought-provoking.
> 
> Please understand that this is a one-shot. I'm not sure if I will continue this to make it some type of series, but for now, this is meant to be a stand-alone piece.
> 
> Thanks very much for reading.


End file.
